Blinded
by Christy C
Summary: There's an accident and Clint is temporarily blinded. Coulson is his eyes. Angst/Fluff/Romance. Prompt Fill. Shieldhusbands. Phlint. ClintCoulson.
1. Chapter 1

Clint carefully perched on a tree in the middle of a forest in Europe somewhere. He had a bird's eye (harharhar) view of a semi-villainous group that SHIELD believed to be planning world domination (what a surprise, that didn't happen every other day). An informant was also below, had been the one to call in to SHIELD. He was here to drop a wire down so SHIELD could hear possible plans, then wait until confirmation over the comm that they were in fact villainous and then stick some arrows in them. His handler would tell him when they got confirmation.

Speaking of handlers…

"Hey Coulson, when I get out of here, will you find me some Italian food? That layover left me wanting more." Clint murmured in his comm. When they had passed by Italy in their quest to the current location, Clint had been reintroduced to the amazing food.

"Complete the mission successfully and maybe I'll consider it."

"Duh. But real Italian, not just like pizza…how about a calzone?" Clint hummed. He jumped across the trees, invisible to the men meeting below him.

"Barton, do you even know the term comm silence?" Clint smirked. Coulson was getting a bit annoyed now. That's when it got fun.

"Silence? What's that?" he joked. He heard Coulson's huffy sigh that let him know he was trying not to laugh.

"Barton, focus on the mission." Clint rolled his eyes.

"I already dropped the wire in. You can hear everything they're saying and once you decide to tell me which ones to kill, then I'll have something else to focus on." He explained easily, "Really Coulson. You'd think you would learn the main points of the mission." He tsked. He could imagine Coulson rolling his eyes.

"Yes Barton, I-" The cut off meant Coulson was listening to the men through the wire.

"Sir?" Clint realized things got serious, so he had to now too.

"Barton! Get out of there now! The informant just turned on you!"

Clint's eyes widened and he jumped back across the trees, away from the men, but it was too late. An explosion sent Clint to the ground, fire spreading through the trees over his head. His ears rung and he blinked quickly as the after effects of the grenade temporarily blinded him.

Then he blinked some more, wondering why the gray had yet to go away.

Then he passed out when a boot kicked him in the temple.

* * *

Clint groaned, stretching. From the comfortable, yet slightly scratchy sheets under him, he assumed that SHIELD had gotten him back from the enemies.

He opened his eyes.

And saw gray.

And panicked.

* * *

**_R & R. _****_Let's go with the excuse that this is the prologue and that is the reason it's so short. Don't worry though, the other chapters will be longer._**


	2. Chapter 2

"Barton! Barton! Calm down!" Clint threw a punch in the direction of whoever was speaking. Theoretically, he knew that he was safe and sound in SHIELD, but he didn't care. He didn't recognize the speaker and he refused to take any chances. Jumping to his feet, he backed up until he reached a wall, holding his fists out, using his ears. He heard at least three people walking around and a door just opened, allowing someone else in.

"Barton! That's enough! Clint!" he relaxed, stumbling in that direction. He slammed into Coulson, he could tell from the smell of coffee and sandalwood. Coulson wrapped an arm around his shoulders, leading him back to the bed. He shivered as Coulson moved away, grabbing his arm in a silent plea to stay put. He felt the bed dip as Coulson sat next to him.

"Okay Agent Barton. My name is Dr. Marcus Bose. You're at SHIELD medical facilities in New York City, and you are safe. The exhaust from the grenade that went off mere feet from you temporarily blinded you. It is a miracle that your ears weren't affected as well." Clint didn't feel miraculous.

"Well, how long will it take for it to come back?" Clint questioned.

"Well, it depends. It could be anywhere from a week to a year." A year.

A year.

Clint started shaking, not a lot, but enough for Coulson on the bed next to him to feel it.

"If you can excuse us." Coulson spoke, and Clint heard them leaving. He breathed out roughly when the door shut behind them. He dropped his head in his hands.

"I can't." he managed to speak, breathes coming out harshly. "My eyesight…my eyes…Coulson." He squeaked, shaking his head.

"You can Barton. I'll help you, but you got to help yourself first."

"You sound like a bad motivational speaker." Clint murmured, but couldn't help the smile that quirked his lips. And when it did, he couldn't help but think that Coulson purposefully opened himself up for the sarcasm.

"Come on Barton. You're coming with me to your apartment." Coulson stood, grabbing Clint's arm and forcing him to his feet. Clint shook his head.

"Don't you have another mission right now?" Clint questioned. He was almost certain he had heard Coulson do that almost complaint thing where he mentioned a mission and then waited for Clint to make disparaging comments about it.

"No." Clint hummed. Huh, he must have been wrong. Clint followed the way that Coulson led him, arm around his soldier making it seem much less obvious that he was doing anything for Clint. He must have known how much Clint hated seeming weak. He probably did by now, being his handler for so long.

"Oh! Agent Barton! Agent Coulson! Agent Barton isn't off hospital leave yet. We want to keep him here until his vision returns." Clint opened his mouth to argue, and threaten escape later. He didn't need his eyes to navigate out of the hospital wing; he's done it enough times by now.

"No. I'm officially signing him out as his handler."

"Agent Coulson-"

"Goodbye Dr. Bose."

Clint couldn't help the grin that spread across his face as Coulson led him away.

Cint was set up on his bed. Coulson had monitored his food intake, and after realizing that the only thing he held in his apartment consisted of chips and beer, had gone to the supermarket and come back with things. Clint said things, because the only thing he could smell was fifty billion different types of spices.

When Coulson had finished cooking, he had plopped the plate into Clint's hands. Clint, who had been staring at gray for the past half hour, had sniffed the object.

"Open your mouth." Coulson demanded. Clint raised an eyebrow.

"Coulson, I don't know. It might ruin our business relationship if we move things to the bedroom." He could almost see Coulson's semi-amused frown.

"Barton."

Clint warily opened his mouth, and accepted the fork.

And immediately grinned.

"_Coulson_! You made me a calzone!" Clint couldn't decide whether to tease him or thank him.

"I made myself a calzone, and figured that you would need something to eat as well." Coulson corrected. Clint snorted.

"Yeah, and what a coincidence that it happened right after I said I wanted Italian." Clint pointed out. Coulson huffed.

"Whatever, eat. You don't need a fork, they are mini calzones." Clint was filled with gratitude.

"Thank you." He said quietly. Coulson guided his hand, leading him to the plate. Clint managed it from there. They ate in silence.

"Phil…what am I going to do? My eyes…I can't…my name is Hawkeye!" Clint leaned back in his chair. He heard him shifting.

"Clint. It's temporary."

"It could be for a year Coulson!" Clint jumped to his feet, and heard Coulson get up also. "Right now! I want to walk away, but I can't!" Clint deflated, running his hands through his hair. "Phil…I…."

He felt the hand on his shoulder and the breath near his neck.

"Listen to me. You are going to be fine. I am going to take care of you. I'm not going to leave your side, okay?" He had never heard Phil's voice that soft before and he wished he could see his face, but a warm feeling rose in his body. He ignored that.

"Thank you…" Clint squeezed the hand on his shoulder. They separated.

"Come on. You look tired." Clint followed his footsteps, falling peacefully onto his bed. "I'll be here when you wake up. Sleep." Clint reached out, managing to grab some part of Phil's arm.

"Stay. Please." He felt Phil's hesitation and wondered why he had asked to begin with, but tugged Phil down next to him on the bed. Rolling over, he didn't face him, but he felt Phil's heat radiating towards him.

Clint didn't want to think about why that was so comforting.

* * *

**_A little bit longer, huh? R & R._**


	3. Chapter 3

Clint woke up, and started to stretch, but froze. It took him a minute to remember everything, like why his eyesight was gray.

That didn't explain why an arm was tight around his waist. He could smell Phil though, and remember his plea for company. They must have moved around in the middle of the night. Phil still wasn't awake and Clint could relax. He did, shuffling over a bit so he could nuzzle into Phil's neck. He breathed deeply for a few moments, peaceful.

"What are you doing?" Phil murmured. Clint stiffened slightly, before relaxing.

"Sleeping." He muttered back cheekily. He felt Phil's chuckle. Phil yawned, releasing his waist and rolling over and away.

"Come on. Get up. I'll make breakfast." Clint pretended not to notice how domestic that was and how good that made him feel. Clint finished stretching, carefully making his way to his feet. Phil slung an arm around his waist, setting him up in the living room.

As he waited for breakfast, Clint idly wondered when Coulson had become Phil. When his handler had become his protector. He still didn't like or even accept his eyesight problem, but with Phil here, it was…bearable. Clint shook his head. Nope. Not even going to think about that.

"Come on! I'm hungry! Just pour some milk and cereal!" he whined. He heard the snort.

"Would you prefer that or the German waffles I'm in the midst of making?" Clint's eyebrow popped up.

"How the hell do you know how to cook? Mini calzones? German waffles?" he questioned.

"I watch things other than Super Nanny you know. The cooking channel is only to stations over." Clint attempted to imagine Coulson at home in footy pajamas, watching Chef Fancyfrenchman roast a duck.

"I don't wear footy pajamas when I watch the cooking channel. As a matter of fact, I don't wear footy pajamas at all." Clint blinked. Had he said that aloud? "I know how you think. I've worked with you for eight years." Okay then.

After a whole hearty breakfast, Clint reached for the remote, turning on the TV.

Oh, right.

Clint silently handed the remote control over to Coulson, who clicked off the TV.

"It's okay. You can watch it. I don't care." Clint assured him.

"Liar." Phil stood up, doing what Clint wasn't sure. When he came back, a radio that Clint didn't even know he owned was playing music in the background and he had placed something on the table in front of them. "Supernanny usually doesn't come on until after seven, when we're off from work."

That's when it hit Clint.

"Phil, you know it's probably like ten, right? I never get up early enough for work, especially when I don't even have to." Clint waited for the muffled curse and rush to leave. Nothing. If anything, Phil relaxed further into his couch.

"Eleven thirty actually." Was the only reply. Clint sat there, puzzled.

"Well, don't you have work?" Clint finally decided to ask, not figuring it out on his own.

"No." Clint paused, and then stiffed.

"Oh. I see. Fury put you on watch the blind man duty." Clint nodded, "I understand." He crossed his arms, tense and feeling a rising anger fill him.

"I used my vacation time to take an unspecified amount of time off from work." Phil gave no more explanation and yet reasons still raced through Clint's head. If he didn't have to be here, then why was he?

"You hate missing work." Clint pointed out.

"I do. Tell me, have you ever used clay before?" Clint gaped at the abrupt subject change.

"For…art?" he questioned.

"Yes." Coulson agreed. Clint could hear his coffee table screech against the floor as it was pulled closer. "It is amazing what your hands can do when you're visually impaired. When I was a field agent, I once lost my sight for about three months. My handler, Maria Hill, made me create clay sculptures and then when I got my sight back, I could marvel at my work."

"Maria Hill was your handler?!" Clint blurted, probably the only thing he could pull from the sentence, "And you were blind?!" Okay, so two things registered. He heard Coulson's amused sigh.

"Yes Clint. To both. Now come on." He placed Clint's hand on what felt like wet mush.

"Ew!" Clint groaned, jumping back. He could almost feel Coulson' rolling his eyes.

"Clay Clint. It's just clay." He forced his hands back on to the lump. "Just try it, once. And you can see what you made when your sight is back." Clint unwillingly started molding.

The whole day continued like this, with Phil pulling activities out of thin air and forcing Clint to complete them. About half way through the day though, Clint started to notice things.

His sense of touch improved to the point where he could tell different types of clays apart using only his hands.

He could hear the radio from his bathroom, through four walls.

He could smell what Coulson was cooking before he was even told.

At the end of the day, Clint determined that Coulson was not only trying to distract him from his vision loss, but also improving his other skills. Sneaky bastard.

He tumbled into his bed again, whooped from the game of vision-impaired friendly tag (which Clint had no idea how that worked). Without even being prompted, he felt Phil slip onto the other side of the bed.

"You know…" Clint started sleepily, "You don't have to take off from work for me. I mean, you are _just _my handler…"

"Clint, I was never _just _your handler…"

Before Clint could puzzle out what he meant by that, he slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

**_R & R._**


	4. Chapter 4

Clint woke up alone the next morning, but rolling over he could smell that Coulson had been there not too long ago. For a second, he grinned to himself. Hawkeye? Oh no no no. Hawknose was more like it. Did hawks have a good sense of smell? Clint shrugged, whatever.

"Phillllll!" he groaned, "I'm hungry!" A few seconds passed before he heard the approaching footsteps. Huh. He could tell it was Phil just by the pattern. Hawkear?

"Luckily enough for you, I have breakfast already finished." Clint grinned, sitting up in bed. He could smell that Phil had it with him. Most definitely something else edible by hand. Phil was good at making sure of that, probably knowing Clint's pride wouldn't allow him to be hand fed.

After a delicious breakfast, Phil immediately started in on the activities again. Clint froze him with one question though.

"So, what did you mean last night when you said that you were never just my handler?"

The silence that followed let Clint know that Phil was carefully thinking over his words.

"I just meant that with you, a handler would have to be more than a handler." Clint raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Really? That was the best lie you could come up with?" Clint didn't say anything else, just waiting. After a few tense moments, Phil sighed.

"Fine. I can be honest with you. I just didn't want to have to. I don't want this to affect our professional relationship in any way, yet I know that won't be possible…" Clint waited for him to begin speaking again, attempting to hide the grin that was sneaking on to his face.

He had a feeling he knew where this was going, but he seriously did not want to get his hopes up. Phil was always surprising him, so he could be way of base here….but then what other explanation could there be?

"Don't even try to hide it. I can see that smug grin Clint." Phil informed him warily. So, Clint leaned back, grin widening.

"Continue Phil." He said, voice warmer that his contrasting grin. Phil hesitated and Clint idly wished he could see his expression. Would it be the blank, bland expression he usually wore? Or something else entirely? "Phil?" Clint prompted again.

"You already know what I'm going to say."

"Say it anyway. Please."

Silence for a few moments.

"Fine. Clint…I may have developed…a _crush_ on you. Which is entirely unprofessional, and I-"

"Phil, shut up. If I could see, I would kiss you right now, but since I can't?" Clint left that hanging, raising an eyebrow. After a few seconds he felt Phil's hands on the sides of his face and he leaned in the direction he was being pulled, lips meeting Phil's chapped ones.

After a few minutes of glorious kissing, they broke apart, both panting slightly.

"If it makes you feel better, I was never _just _the agent you handled." Clint informed him quietly. Phil hummed, nuzzling into his neck. Clint could feel the smile and it caused his own smile to grow. After a few seconds, Phil pulled away.

"Okay, now, let's go and we can-"

"We are not going to do 'fun activities' all day." Clint cut him off. He could almost feel Phil's eyebrow rise.

"You seemed to enjoy yesterday. Specifically the sculpting." Phil pointed out dryly. Clint shrugged, moving forward and running his hands across Phil's chest until he found it.

Clint tugged him forward by the tie, smirking in the area he knew to be his face.

"Yes, well, I have some other ideas for today." He stated pointedly. Phil chuckled, but willingly moved forward again.

Oh yes. Clint would like this day.

* * *

Clint liked today's activities much better than yesterday's activities. There was a bit of exercise, if rolling around on the couch making out counted as exercise. There was a lot of talking, about feelings, work, and random topics. And _a lot _of making out. But he had mentioned that already. It was his favorite part.

The night once again saw Clint forcing Phil into bed with him. The only difference is that this time Clint felt free to snuggle in tight against the other agent.

"What do you think Natasha is going to think about us?" Clint wondered idly. He knew that she would be absolutely fine with it. If anything, the withering looks she sent his way whenever he had stared after Coulson had told him that she was annoyed with his pining. Phil chuckled.

"Are you kidding? She'll be thrilled. Well, as thrilled as she can be. I believe she was planning on locking us in a closet if we didn't get together soon." Clint snorted.

"Please, I could totally climb out, into the vent, no matter what closet she put me into."

"You think she wouldn't be waiting there to throw you back in? She is nothing if not thorough." Clint nodded.

"Touché." After a few minutes of comfortable silence leading up to sleep, Clint moved.

Clint smiled, nuzzling a little farther into Phil's neck. He blinked open his eyes briefly, taking one last look at Phil's smiling face, before shutting his eyes again and going off to bed.

He would remember why it felt odd to be seeing something later.

* * *

**_R & R. I was going to make this longer, but I didn't want to force it. If I added anything else to the chapter, it made it seem rushed._**


	5. Chapter 5

Clint blinked awake, stretching like a cat. He took in his surroundings, recognizing his bed and his Phil. He blinked again. Hold up. Something wasn't right…

It took him a few moments.

"WHOOP!"

Jumping from the bed, Clint back flipped. He froze as soon as he landed, spinning around. Phil was still asleep. Good. Why not give him an amusing heart attack?

He got into position…

"Waaaaaake uuuup…Phil….waaaaaake uuuuuup."

Someone was singing in his ear. He blinked awake warily, assessing his surroundings. He was in a (now somewhat familiar) bed that did not belong to him. He was comfortable and given that he was awaken through singing, there was no trouble. On the other hand, if there was trouble, then he was in a Disney musical and given his work at SHIELD, he would not be surprised if he was in an alternate dimension where this was true. However, this was not true.

Phil leaned up, attempting to figure out where Clint's singing voice had come from. When he did, he nearly had a heart attack, panic rising through his stomach and into his throat, sweat starting to grow at the base of his spine.

Therefore, Clint saw him blink and raise an eyebrow.

"Clint, what are you doing?" he questioned, voice tightly controlled. Clint raised his own eyebrow, smirking.

"Hanging upside down from the water pipes." He chirped back charmingly. Phil refrained from dropping his face into his hands.

"And, this is a good idea, given that you cannot see at the moment?" he questioned tightly. Clint's smirk widened, shrugging.

"Eh. Whatever." His smirk turned to a genuine grin, "By the way, I love the fact that you're wearing purple, blue, and green plaid. It looks good." Clint nodded.

It took Phil a couple seconds to process that.

He shot off the bed, reaching for his clothing.

"Your eyesight is back. You need to go to medical, so they can determine the extent of your recovery, and if it is permanently back or if it is a temporary return, and…" Phil continued to talk, but he turned the majority of his attention to watching Clint crawl upside down across the pipes lining the roof of his bedroom. His lips quirked up just the tiniest bit when Clint flipped down to stand in front of him.

"I am not going back to medical." Clint determined, interrupting him. He gave him the look that said he meant business and Phil sighed. He didn't know whether it was because he suddenly realized how adorable that look was (like a puppy begging for a treat) or because he knew that Clint would sneak out of medical the instant he got the chance.

"I know." He agreed. "And, I am even saying that as your handler. It's too much trying to get you to go to medical when you're bleeding out, let alone when nothing is obviously wrong with you." Clint nodded eagerly.

"Yup! Besides, I have better ideas about what we could be doing right now…" he trailed off suggestively, raising an eyebrow. Phil sighed. That sounded amazing, but three days of missing work would already have his workload piling up.

"Your eyesight is back and I still have paperwork to do. I-" Phil paused as his phone started vibrating.

_Shut up. Paperwork is done. Take care of Barton now or he'll end up bringing sex to the office. –NF_

Clint glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening. Phil groaned, awaiting the freak out. Clint didn't disappoint.

"He has my apartment bugged?! And he's been watching us?! GET OUT YOU FREAKING CREEPER! THAT HAS TO BE AGAINST SOME SORT OF LAW! OUT! GET OUT! I'M CALLING NATASHA! SHE'LL GO ALL RUSSIAN ON YOUR ASS FURY! GET OUT! OUT! YOUR FREAKING CREEPER!"

Phil rolled his eyes, affectionately tugging him closer.

"Enough."

"No! That is not _enough _I-"

Phil ignored him, tugging him back to bed.

That shut him up real quick.

* * *

**_Comic relief epilogue is comic-y relief-y. Finished! Hope the prompter liked it! Yeah, I know right up after the fourth chapter. I just didn't want to drag it out and I won't be online again (I think) until next week, so..._**


End file.
